Kiss The Boy
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: Marker plotbunny. Roger has started to notice his obsession with his roommate and it's annoying him to no end. This is MARK! So why does he just want to throw their whole friendship away and lean in...? M/R fluffy slash, oneshot.


_**A/N:**__ Once again, typing in school. GASP. Ahaha but I have an excuse! I finished early in creative writing and I was pretty much allowed to do whatever… and this happened. I've had this idea for awhile, so it's not exactly spontaneous. It's just sort of light and fluffy and humorous, unlike a lot of the angst I've been spouting out recently. Enjoy it anyways! I'd love to see some reviews…_

_P.S. I'm aware that The Little Mermaid didn't come out until 1989, but I don't care :P I wanted it to be in Roger's head, so it is! MEH._

**Disclaimer: RENT. The Little Mermaid. Kiss the Girl. Mark and Roger. Emotion... Oh, hello! I was just making a list of things I don't own.**

_**Kiss The Boy**_

I stared at Mark intently as he sat at the metal table across from me, head down as he fiddled with his camera in his lap. I didn't particularly care if he caught me staring. I mean, best friends can stare at each other right? Especially when they've been rooming together for nearly two years. Yeah, I know. It's creepy. But…

I don't know when my obsession with Mark started. It could have been anywhere along the line from when I met him as a little five-year-old bastard who liked to play rough and made him cry, to about two weeks ago when I started to notice the disturbing amount of attention I paid him.

Like how I knew that his favorite color was blue, but his favorite shade was navy, like his scarf stripes. And that he was ambidextrous but told everyone, including me, that he was right-handed to seem more normal. (I've caught him writing with his left, but he denied it like you wouldn't believe.) And how he always had ink spatter on his palms and his fingers from the hurried pace that he scribbled down his ideas in that ratty old notebook. Or the way that he always brushed at his nose with his right thumb and index finger when he was embarrassed, looking down and blushing and babbling as Mark is always apt to do.

Maybe it would be okay if I didn't have these- COMPULSIONS. I say that in place of more disturbing words like "desires", because I don't DESIRE Mark- I mean- Okay that was ONCE! In the shower! I wasn't fully awake, okay? It doesn't count if I moaned his name when I was barely even conscious!

For example, when he came home yesterday with that little frown he gets when he's unhappy with his filming that he always thinks I won't notice and I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. And then later, sitting on the couch with him, wishing I could pull him closer and let him cuddle up to my chest…

Right now, I watched him wanting nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss him smack on the mouth. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? This is my best friend! The same scrawny Jewish kid who cried when I pushed him too hard on the swings and he fell off, the same awkward teenager who naively asked me about the dynamics of gay sex, the same barely-legal adult who followed me blindly to the city and held me while I shook and sobbed and screamed and let me beat the shit out of him with hardly a protest because he understood that I wasn't in my right mind.

I can't go perving on Mark. I can't fuck up what we have. Everyone always talks about how we're the best friends they've ever seen and we always grin at each other and shrug and- I can't just throw that out the window for a stupid kiss! God, I'm such an idiot…

So why am I leaning forward on my elbows, biting my lip, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, trying to rub something off of the lens of his camera with a rag that we probably need to wash before it does him any good? Why am I doing this even when I KNOW it's not right, and I need to stop with all of these weird ass thoughts before they get me in trouble? I'm impulsive, someday he's going to wake me up and I'm going to pull him down and molest him before my brain is functioning-

"… What?" Mark asks, frowning at me self-consciously. His blue eyes are guardedly curious. As my friend for twenty odd years now, he knows that sometimes he doesn't want to know all of the shit going on in my head.

"Ah… Nothing?" I try, stammering. Damn it. I've been caught. I know I said I didn't care, but I don't have an excuse ready, and my cheeks are flushing- no! Mark is the one that blushes, god damn it! Not me! A confused smile has found its way onto his face though, and he's leaning forward too, still a foot away but seeming exponentially closer to me. There is a mischievous glint in his eye, the one I've seen only a handful of times before- one of those being that memorable day at the Life Café, just before he jumped up on the table- and my breath catches in my throat, pants growing slightly tighter. Greeeeat.

"Any particular reason you're staring at me, Rog?" he asks innocently, but I can see the smirk growing out of that smile. Oh, shit. "Hmmmmm?"

"I- No?" All of my statements are coming out as questions, and my uncertainty only makes him grin more. "I mean… I'm tired. I'm gonna make coffee." Scrambling to my feet, I left him behind as I started boiling the water, blushing uncontrollably. I don't hear him get up, but suddenly he's pressed up behind me, arms around my waist, breath on my ear as he asks at a slightly lower volume, "Come on, tell me!"

Mark sure picked a great day to be forward. I jerked away slightly harder than I meant to, making him stumble and slacken his grip on me in surprise. I sent him one of my patented glares. The ones that tell him 'Roger is moody today- you'd better not mess with him.' It was half-hearted, but he got the point, backing off and sitting at the table again with his camera, quiet as a mouse.

Sighing and already feeling like an asshole, I waited until I had a steaming mug of coffee in hand to sit across from him again and reach out, tilting his chin up to look at me. The impulse to pull him into the best kiss he's ever had grew stronger, but I batted it away as best I could, apologetically meeting his eyes.

"Look- I don't want to talk about it," I muttered, averting my eyes as he lifted his to meet my gaze. That damn blush was lingering on my face. I realized that I was still touching him and awkwardly removed it, moving both of my hands into my lap under the table. (Awkward? That's another Mark thing! I don't do AWKWARD, I'm supposed to be smooth- What the hell is it with me today? Where's my rockstar persona gotten off to?)

That unfortunate wording sends me once again into a spiral of thoughts so dirty they were probably staining my mind, and I pinched my arm painfully under the table, growling to myself in frustration. I've never had the best self-control, but this is ridiculous. I should be able to refrain from fantasizing about my roommate when I'm two feet away from him! Fuck!

Abruptly, I stood and nearly ran to my room, shutting the door behind me loudly. I winced at the slam, hoping Mark didn't misinterpret it. I wasn't mad at HIM. I was mad at ME, for thinking of HIM too much. It was all very confusing and I didn't want to think about it too hard… Of course, the moment I think I'm alone and I lay back on my bed, hand trailing down to the waistband of my pants and dipping beneath it- hey, I'm a guy, and while I might not want to do it to Mark's image but that doesn't mean I can't do it to someone else's- he decides to knock on the door timidly, asking, "Roger? Are you- Can I come in?"

I bit back a groan, freezing halfway through the downstroke. I was so, so fucking hard- couldn't he wait five minutes? It would be so much easier to talk to him when I wasn't horny as all hell, imagining him naked. But I reluctantly drew my hand out of my pants and sat up, hunching over and crossing my legs to disguise my erection, muttering my approval.

The door creaked open and he peeked in, my Marky with his gingery-blonde hair starting to get long enough to curl at the ends like mine did when I hadn't cut it in a while and his bright blue eyes, enough to take my breath away. He was nervous. I'd scared him off. He inched into the room slowly, eying me the same way he had during the first few weeks after withdrawal- like I was bound to snap and punch him in the jaw any moment of any day.

"I'm sorry-" he started to apologize, staring at the floor and wringing his hands in that anxious manner of his. I was barely paying attention. My cock was throbbing and my head was buzzing with not only the dirty thoughts, but the weird romantic ones that I'd never had for another man before. Sure, I was like this with April once, and after her with Mimi, but I had never just wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life. I stared at his lips while he continued to stammer, far too concentrated on that one simple feature of his face. What I wouldn't give to-

"Roger?" he asked, cautiously reaching out to wave a hand in my face. "Roger. I asked if you wanted me to make it up to you..." His eyes met mine for a moment, pleading, and suddenly I was reminded of one of my little sister's favorite movies growing up. The Little Mermaid.

_There you see her, sitting there across the way_

_She don't got a lot to say but there's something about her._

_And you don't know why, but you're dyin' to try_

_Go on and, kiss the girl!_

I shook my head to clear it, blinking bemusedly and frowning. Kiss the BOY was more like it... No! Now was no time to be humming along to Disney songs! I'm trying to concentrate! "No. That's fine." I muttered. "It's not you..."

"It's me," he mocked me, as though finishing my sentence. "Come on. What did I do? I'm sorry-"

"Would you STOP apologizing?" I snapped, immediately regretting it as he shut his mouth tightly and averted his eyes again. He clutched the camera in his hands tightly for support, and I sighed. Fucking fuck. I needed to get a grip. I didn't take that anger management class for nothing. Even if I had stormed out on it after the first two days... "Look. Leave it. You didn't do anything."

"... Okay..." he mumbled, looking towards the door for a moment before shaking his head and stepping closer to sit on the bed beside me. He carefully set his camera down on the nightstand, apparently unaware that by leaning over me he was putting himself in a perilous situation. "Can I stay? We haven't talked in a while..."

"Sure," I said automatically, wincing internally. God damn him! Why couldn't he leave me alone? I couldn't think straight between my own raging testosterone, my cock pressed to my zipper, Mark's proximity and that damn song getting louder in my head. "What's up?"

He fidgeted, playing with the ends of his sweater sleeves. I felt myself twitch as I resisted the urge to push him down on my bed and cover his lips with my own. Oh God, did this make me gay? Not that I cared if I was but- but that would change everything! I would have to come out and start caring about fashion and stop staring at girl's asses when they walked by- But on the upside I'd be allowed to stare at Mark's...

Those blue eyes meet mine, and that lopsided smile on his face when he shrugs tugs at my heartstrings. He's so fucking perfectly imperfect that it makes me want to- Well, sorry for being redundant, but it makes me want to KISS him. And THAT makes me want to tear my bleached blonde hair out by the roots.

"I don't know. Nothing really. I don't have much inspiration for a film." He sounds sad about this, which I suppose makes sense. What is a filmmaker to do when he doesn't have a film to make?

"Oh? What do you count as inspiration?" I heard myself say as though from a distance. The song in my head was overwhelming me, and I felt myself leaning forward slightly, breath hitching.

_Shalalalalala my oh my,_

_Looks like the boy's too shy_

_Ain''t gonna, kiss the girl._

_Shalalalalala ain't that sad_

_Ain't it a shame? Too bad_

_He's gonna miss the girl_

I groaned, smacking myself in the temple as though the words would fall right out of my ears if I jarred them out of place in my head. Mark gave me an odd look, but he didn't ask. Instead, he answered me. "I guess... Life right now is kind of boring, you know? We're sort of scraping by and nothing has happened... And without anything happening, what's there to film about? The last one was all about my friends so I've exhausted that idea," he said, shrugging and looking slightly lost. He hesitated before continuing, "I mean... I haven't had much of a love life lately, either. I could definitely find inspiration in that if I had one."

Nodding, I swallowed hard, lyrics swirling in my brain. Fuckfuckfuckfuck I was going to do this wasn't I? I was. I was going to ruin everything for a kiss that I really didn't know why I wanted.

Sure, Mark is- is sweet and sensitive and fucking girly sometimes, so maybe my mind was just mistaking him as a girl... And he was funny, even though sometimes his sarcasm was so thick it could choke me, and he always took care of me and he liked to lay his head in my lap if it wasn't already occupied by my guitar and sometimes when we have spontaneous, friendly wrestling matches we ended up breathless and tangled up in each other, and he's all flushed and smiling and I never want to move again-

My eyes widened as I came to the sort of epiphany that would have made me choke and spit out my drink, had I been drinking anything. I was vaguely disappointed that I wasn't- this definitely deserved some kind of flashy show to demonstrate just how important it was.

I was attracted to Mark. I had a crush on Mark... And I had... for years.

YEARS.

Mind blown, I jumped to my feet and staggered almost drunkenly, trying to put some distance between us before I did something stupid. Because now that I knew why I'd been having these DESIRES- now they were desires, I couldn't deny it, and it felt so much deeper and dirtier and OH GOD this is Mark I'm thinking of! Bad Roger! BAD!- I wanted to act on them. Immediately. Being the impulsive person I am, it was hard for me not to just push him back on the bed and- and- and thrust my tongue into that pretty mouth of his- FUCK!

"Roger? Are you- Christ, Roger, are you okay?" he asked, looking alarmed and concerned. He got that expression from me- I knew, because he was Jewish, and that little tidbit made me want to that much more and...

Without thinking, as usual, I acted on impulse and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring him in the eye for a frozen minute before leaning in, slowly, and closing my eyes as I kissed him.

"... 'og." He mumbled against my lips, not moving away but not responding either. I tightened my grip on him, desperately hoping that he wouldn't move away until I'd gotten this out of my system. We stayed that way, lips awkwardly pressed together, for what seemed like forever and the urge still wasn't gone. Eventually I broke away, letting him go and flexing my stiff fingers at my sides, inhaling sharply and not quite meeting his wide eyes.

"Sorry." I said, feeling supremely idiotic. God, Mark was going to hate me... He probably hated me. Mark isn't gay! I know, because the walls are paper fucking thin and I had to listen to him banging Maureen for four years- Oh, God! He was going to move out! Or kick me out! We'd never be friends again! I'd ruined EVERYTHING- Might as well go jump off the roof now, while I was at it-

All of a sudden I felt hands tugging at my hair, pulling me forcibly forward into a hard, bruising kiss. My green eyes shot open, crossing to look at him. He looked somewhat fierce, so flushed I could have mistaken him for a very large tomato but with a determined set to his jaw that was entirely deliberate. A whimper escaped me as his teeth nipped at my lower lip, sucking at it, and as I opened my mouth in a moan of appreciation he took advantage of the fact and delved his tongue inside, rubbing at mine sensually and exploring the moist cavern of my mouth.

This oddly Mark-dominated kiss lasted a lot longer than my pathetic attempt, and at some point the back of my knees hit the bed and we toppled onto it, hip on top of me straddling my hips as he continued to devour my mouth, both of us making small, pleased noises and I realized he'd been pushing me backwards. My hips jerked forward of their own accord, groans becoming more desperate as he kissed me harder, pushing me back into the mattress.

When he broke away, panting and red-faced, I said the first thing that came into my head. As usual, it was a little bit stupid.

"You are so much cooler than Prince Eric..." I flushed as soon as it left my mouth, watching as his face screwed up in confusion and he laughed suddenly, almost hysterically. Doubled over, Mark leaned on me heavily, his laughter shaking his small bony frame and mine. "Shut it, Cohen!"

"Does that make you my Ariel?" he asked, grinning up at me even more out of breath now. I was struck, for the seventeenth time that day, by how god damn beautiful he was. Maybe it was weird to call a boy beautiful... But this was Mark. My Mark. One of my arms curled around his waist possessively, pulling him closer, and I felt my face start to stretch into an uncertain smile.

"If you want..."

"I do," he answered automatically, smiling shyly back at me. We just stared at each other, goofily smiling, and then he hesitantly leaned down to press another kiss to my lips. I responded eagerly, embarrassingly so, but I didn't care because when I opened my eyes again Mark was still there, looking at me with so much affection it was like a high.

High. My mind drifted to April, to Mimi, all of my failed attempts at love and relationships... Mark must have seen the frown slipping onto my face and known the reason behind it, because he laid down on my chest and nuzzled against me comfortingly. I brought my hand up to his hair, petting it down absently.

"It's okay... Here goes," he whispered.

I nodded, heart a little bit lighter. "Here goes..."

We sealed it with a kiss.


End file.
